Tales of the Crescent Isle
by Tim46billion
Summary: A Dragonborn Princess, a Tiefling thief, a Dwarven gunsmith, a rock Gnome golemancer, an Elven rogue, a peaceful Goliath, and a Cleric who can't keep it in his pants. What do they all have in common? Boredom, and a country under siege by Dragons. This can only go well.


**A/N: Well. Long time no see. Yeah, I know, this isn't the promised next chapter of The Wars of Creation, or the promised first chapter for that matter; nor is it The Huntress Rider, or Legends of the Sixteen. This is a new story, and that doesn't mean I'm abandoning any of those. It just means that I've got a lot on my plate and writing a novelization of my D &D sessions is a good way to distract me from life. I still write regularly on those other items, I just never like the way it comes out, or I change my mind... The point is, I'm still on my extended break. But, I figured some comedy would do you all some good, and so I give you the novelization of my D&D sessions. Thanks to the loyal fans who are still patiently waiting. **

**Tales of the Crescent Isle**

 **Prologue: A New Friend**

Purple scales glinted in the early evening sunlight. A humanoid figure stood on a balcony, overlooking the entire city from atop a lonely perch. An expensive emerald green dress draped the figure's shoulders, barely covering a modest chest before sweeping backwards into an elegant and incredibly long train. She stood at five feet, short for her race, but then, she was still young for her race as well, with only seventeen winters behind her; still a child in human standards. Her hair, if you could call it that, was as black as night, and her eyes a vibrant, emerald green, made even more striking by the dress she wore and the piercing anger in her eyes.

Another dragoness, this one black, and wearing red, came through the stained glass doors situated behind the shorter female. Upon her midnight tresses was a large golden crown, a symbol of a high house of leadership. She stepped up to stand beside the other, not bothering to look at the other.

"This is not because of what you told us the other night," the midnight dragoness began. "Think of it as punishment for Arlec Tol, for being a pompous, incompetent fool incapable of running a small fishing town."

"Just because you despise him between the two of us, doesn't mean that there were other, far easier ways of handling this, mother. I know you aren't the biggest fan of my inclinations, and this was the best way for you to kill two dragons with one ballista."

"My dearest daughter, do not put thoughts or feelings into my mouth. This was as much your father's decision as mine. The dragon attacks are increasing. Without my parents to protect us, this city will become very dangerous here soon. Ardbeg wants you safe, and I agree. So yes, I would guess that we are indeed killing two dragons with one ballista, but they aren't the two dragons you think. Now get back inside, This soiree is all for you, and besides, Cynder; you're getting married!" She said the last phrase as if the other should be excited about it, but from the glare Cynder gave her mother, apparently the opposite was true.

The glare faded into dispassionate acceptance, and Cynder spoke up once again. "What's my schedule for tomorrow?"

"A light one. Your father and I will have to get used to holding court ourselves once again, especially your father. No more hunting parties, I'm afraid. No, your only appointment is with a foreign inventor from the Dwarf Kingdom. His specialty is defensive emplacements, although from his letter all I can gather is that he doesn't build trebuchets, or ballistas, or anything like that. You're to determine his worth to the city. If you think he's worth it, he'll stay in the keep. If not, you decide whether to offer him asylum or not. Personally, the fewer people here in the coming weeks, the better."

The reception continued well into the night. The drinks ran dry, patrons left, and Cynder retired to her chambers. Darkness fell across the land, eyes closed, and the nightlife began.

At the base of the castle's walls a shadowy figure stalked through the night. Two large horns, a long tail, and a cloak as black as night; there was no doubt that this figure was a Tiefling. He walked with purpose, and the few people he passed looked away as if they couldn't even see him. When he reached a certain spot, he stopped, looked around, and immediately began climbing. He reached the buttress with ease, somersaulting onto the walkway perfectly between the rotating guard. Pulling a grappling hook from his belt, he spun it twice before loosing it in an arc that carried it up and over the closest tower's balcony rail. He pulled the rope tight, then swung down onto the wall below and began his upward climb. He reached the end of his rope and silently hauled himself up and onto the balcony. Glass doors stood between him and his potential targets, so he pulled one of his few remaining lockpicks and got to work.

The door opened with a soft click. He spied a four poster bed, upon which was a sleeping dragonborn, curled deep into her blankets and furs. There were four doorways, three of them open. Two of them led to rooms filled with dresses, tunics, and breeches; all of the finest quality. The third led to a private bathing chamber. The last presumably led out into a hall. Chests of drawers, dressers, a vanity, a changing screen, and an armor stand with heavy plate armor completed the room.

The Tiefling's first target was the bathing room. He figured jewelry could be found in abundance here, where they may have been hastily discarded in order to have a quick evening bathe. He found nothing. His next target, the vanity, only held makeup, nail paints, and various perfumes. He searched both closets and found nothing there as well. The chest at the foot of the bed only help personal items such as books, a diary, and, oddly enough, a pair of circular blades and a matched dagger set, as well as a harness and belt for each, and a pair of leather backed, mail gloves, presumably for holding the ring-blades.

Finally, he decided to search the chest of drawers. The bottom drawer held night clothes, and the middle held various tunics that were much too large to be worn by the small figure on the bed; they were likely "comfort clothes"; he raised a lip at the thought, thinking of derogatory stereotypes for nobles and their ilk. The top drawer held what he was looking for, and what he wasn't. The top drawer held undergarments, breast bindings, and finally, jewelry. Before he could grab a single item, however, one of the daggers he'd spied in the chest was at his throat, and the other at the small of his back.

He chuckled lowly in the back of his throat. "I don't suppose you'll believe that this is all a misunderstanding?"

"I knew you were here as soon as you opened the doors. I watched you search my entire room, and when you became distracted, I decided to make my move."

"Impressive. So how do I make it out of here alive?"

"How did you get passed the guards?"

"I climbed the outer wall, used a grappling hook to climb up to this balcony, then I picked the lock and here we are."

"Interesting. You made it all the way up here without alerting any guards. You'll do nicely."

"I'll do for what?"

"I've recently been married off against my will to the mayor of Borovia."

"Isn't he a goblin?"

"Yes…" hissed the dragoness, "and a damned ugly one too. You're going to go to borovia under the tutelage of a contact of mine. He's a ranger, he'll teach you some things that will make your chosen lifestyle easier and will make what I need you to do for me easier as well."

"And if I refuse?"

"All I have to do is scream, and you'll be taken to the dungeons and hanged on the morrow, posthaste. I, of course, will be much too busy to rescue you, as I'll be holding court for an audience of one."

"You're evil," replied the Tiefling.

"No, just trying to make the best of a bad situation. You're the idiot that decided stealing from the Crown Princess was a smart idea. Now, do we have an accord?"

"Remove the blades and then I'll decide."

"I'm not dumb, Tiefling, I know exactly what you'll do as soon as I release you. Regardless, I shall, if only to prove my dominance over you."

The blades were removed, and immediately the male made to escape, but found he couldn't move. He looked down at his feet and discovered that they were covered in ice, freezing him to the floor. He turned to the dragoness, seeing purple scales, green eyes, and cold detachment.

"Ice?" But you're purple? I've never even heard of a purple dragonborn!"

"Really? I thought everyone had heard of me, or at least my legend. They don't call me the Legendary Dragonborn for nothing."

"The Legendary Dragonborn is a myth, perpetuated by the King and Queen to consolidate their rule over this insignificant little island."

"Do I _look_ like a myth?"

"If you're so legendary, then prove it!"

"I-I can't! Not… not yet. But I know it's true! Right now, I can only use Ice, but sometimes, when I get really mad, a windstorm will come from out of nowhere and blow things all over the place."

The Tiefling turned back around, sighing. "Fine. Say I believe you. What do I do for you when I get to Borovia?"

"I don't know yet. It might be a fake kidnapping, it might be an assassination; hell, it might even be that we meet some more people and go on some grand adventure to kill things and get rich so that I can depose the Mayor, divorce him, and get on with my life. Regardless, you'll owe me one, and right now one of us is clearly the better at combat than the other. That might change, and you might challenge me for your freedom, but until that day, I _own_ you. So, once again I ask: do we have an accord?"

The Tiefling sighed. "Yes, and the name's Seul. Watch your back, girlie, because the first chance I get I'm putting a dagger between your eyes."

"Duly noted. Nice to meet you Seul, I'm Cynder," she replied. Their hands met, the ice melted, and a shadow returned to the nightlife outside, no richer than when he had left.

The next morning, Cynder was awoken by her handmaidens, insisting she get ready immediately.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's nearly noon time, you're late for your meeting with the Dwarven Inventor."

"Wonderful. Halissa, pick out a sensible dress for a meeting, this might take a while. Cordé, come with me, I need to bathe."

Half an hour later, Cynder left her chambers, leaving behind her dwarven companions. Eventually she found her way to a small hallway outside of the main chambers, where benches and other seating areas were dispersed evenly for visiting dignitaries and other people waiting to enter the Court. The hallway at this time would usually be empty, however at the moment one of the smaller chairs was occupied by a rather unscrupulous looking dwarf. He sat mostly still, tossing a small bag of unknown contents up and catching it immediately after. An expensive cigar sat between his lips, and his face and arms, where visible, were heavily scarred. A long, unknown object rested against his left knee. He looked up at her as she approached.

"Oi, lassie, what can a dwarf do to get a wee drink o' mead around 'ere? I've been waiting for hours an' hours, my throat is drier than the Great Desert on the mainland."

Cynder looked surprised for a moment, before having a brief look of triumphance and squashing that under cool indifference. "I take it you were supposed to hold Court with my parents, and they've forgotten?"

"Aye, lassie, and that would make ye the wee Princess, recently married to that fat goblin bastard."

"Unfortunately, yes. In any case, how about we go to the kitchens, get you a glass of something, and you can tell me what it is you can provide to the city."

"What can I provide? What can _I_ provide? Simple, lassie," he stopped speaking, walked to a window, and opened it. Then, he looked out, around, said a small but obvious prayer, stuck his cigar in the bag and quickly threw it out into the garden. The bag didn't even touch the ground before it disappeared in a cloud of smoke and with a massive _bang_. "That, lassie, is what I can provide. It's called gunpowder, and it goes _boom_."

"Interesting. What else can it do?"

"Well, it can fire small but heavy metal balls out of a tube of iron. They go so quick that they sometimes go straight through a target, deeper and much more devastating than any arrow. I've got more theories as to what it can do, but right now most kings, dukes, and lords don' wan' me anywhere _near_ there homes or the homes of their people. So I'm stuck without any place to test my theories except for the wild lands between towns, leavin' me with no way to get materials or anything else besides."

"What brought you here, then?"

"This island is volcanic, and one o' the ingredients of gunpowder is a foul smellin' brimstone called Sulfur. Like rotten eggs it smells, but by the gods does it make a bang."

"Tell you what. I'm journeying to a small town on the other end of the island. There are subterranean lava flows that empty out into the ocean near there, you'll find your stinky brimstone there. And, having any excuse to be away from my new husband will be greatly appreciated. So, would you like to come with me?"

Eh, I cannae believe it, someone finally interested in what this can do. It'll revolutionize monster hunting, ranging, defense, war… all of it. Jus' you wait an' see, lassie. Jus' you wait…"


End file.
